Chapter Seventy: Hostage for Blackmail

“Seize him!” someone shouted, and a hundred riflemen immediately raised their guns, aiming at Zhou Yi.

“Master Zhou, please come with me to Mount Wutai. I promise not a single hair on your head will be harmed,” Xuhua said, his palms pressed together, eyes lowered.

“Get lost, you damned bald monk! That Zhang Zuozheng is a despicable ingrate, repaying kindness with betrayal. When he bullied me, you monks did nothing; now that he’s dead, you come seeking vengeance? Laughable! So much for your Buddha’s teaching that all things are illusion and emptiness.” He knew escape was impossible, so he could only try to argue with Xuhua, hoping to vent his anger by striking at the monk’s beliefs.

“Amitabha, all phenomena are empty, but cause and effect are not. Those who harm others lose their lives; murderers must pay. This is fate. Master Zhou, come with me to Mount Wutai—let my mentor judge your actions,” Xuhua replied calmly.

The Qing court was devoted to Buddhism, and revered Mount Wutai. So, as Xuhua spoke, the riflemen kept their guns trained on Zhou Yi, preventing his escape, but refrained from shooting.

“On the tenth of June, at Zhuolu, the spirits sought to sow chaos among the living. Not a single monk from Mount Wutai came to suppress them. Had it not been for Master Mingkong from Shaolin, the world would now be hell. Zhang Zuozheng was present, yet not only did he refuse to help, he secretly tried to harm me, repaying kindness with betrayal. Tell me, master, does this fit your doctrine of cause and effect?” Zhou Yi, unfamiliar with Buddhist teachings, could only recount past events to prove Zhang Zuozheng’s wrongdoing, justifying his own actions.

“That is why my junior died by your hand. Cause and effect have come full circle.”

“If so, why do you still seek vengeance?”

“You killed my junior—that was the cause. My pursuit is the effect: bringing you to Mount Wutai to confess and accept punishment.”

Their debate had already stirred the palace.

A boy of twelve or thirteen, handsome and dressed in imperial robes, was none other than Puyi, the Xuantong Emperor of the Qing.

Behind Puyi stood Zhang Xun, his hair streaked with white, followed by dozens of riflemen. Puyi dared not approach, only watching from afar, unable to suppress a chuckle as he listened to their argument.

“Master Xuhua, why have you not captured this rebel?” Zhang Xun called loudly from behind Puyi.

“Zhang Xun, you treacherous old dog! Both you and your nephew are faithless traitors. When this is over, you’ll be the next to die!” Zhou Yi’s anger flared at the sight of Zhang Xun.

“Father Minister, why does he call you a thief? What grudge is between you?” Puyi, unaware of the truth, asked plainly. After all, he was but a twelve-year-old child, lacking subtlety, and his words irked Zhang Xun.

‘Father Minister’—this was how Puyi addressed Zhang Xun, revealing the esteem Zhang Xun held in the emperor’s heart. Through history, only Jiang Ziya was called ‘Prime Minister Father’ by the king of Zhou; Zhang Xun dared to stand as his equal.

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Zhang Xun glanced at Puyi, choosing not to reply. Yet when Puyi met Zhang Xun’s gaze, he instinctively stepped back, testament to Zhang Xun’s intimidating presence.

“Haha, Zhang Xun, so your loyalty to the nation is a sham! You only seek to manipulate the emperor and command the lords. Today, even if it costs me my life, I will see your imperial ambitions shattered!” Zhou Yi said, then lunged toward Zhang Xun.

The riflemen dared not fire; to do so risked harming the emperor—a crime punishable by extermination of their families.

In midair, Zhou Yi redirected his Lihuo and Water-Splitting Blade straight at Zhang Xun. Zhang Xun, seeing Zhou Yi rush at him with such speed, knew escape was impossible and stumbled backward in terror.

Xuhua was a moment behind Zhou Yi, unable to intervene in time.

In desperation, Zhang Xun grabbed a soldier, pulling him forward as a shield. Zhou Yi’s attack struck the soldier’s chest.

Seeing he’d struck the wrong target, Zhou Yi withdrew his Lihuo, intending to attack again. But he was too late—Xuhua had already launched a palm strike from behind.

Zhou Yi spun around, channeling spiritual energy into his palm to meet Xuhua’s attack head-on.

When two masters at the tribulation stage clash, the resulting force is far beyond what ordinary soldiers can withstand—especially with Puyi nearby.

If the two struck, Puyi would inevitably be harmed. Zhou Yi cared not, but Xuhua could not allow that.

Xuhua’s objective was merely to save Zhang Xun from death. Seeing he’d succeeded, he quickly suppressed his spiritual energy.

Zhou Yi had already unleashed his palm, using eighty percent of his strength. To forcibly retract it would injure himself, and if he were wounded, escape would be impossible.

Since Xuhua refused to fight, Zhou Yi targeted his weakness. With a sudden turn, he aimed his palm at Puyi.

Xuhua could not allow harm to come to Puyi—the greatest patron of Mount Wutai, and its livelihood depended on him. Without hesitation, he stepped forward to block Zhou Yi’s attack.

Zhou Yi’s palm was hardly gentle; it struck Xuhua, sending him staggering back dozens of steps before he steadied himself, his face flushed, clearly injured.

Without pause, Zhou Yi redirected his Lihuo, stabbing at Zhang Xun’s back. Why the back? Because Zhang Xun, seeing Zhou Yi attack, knew his life was at stake and fled.

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But could Zhang Xun outrun Zhou Yi? He managed only two steps before Lihuo was less than a meter from his back.

Xuhua, just regaining his footing, saw Zhou Yi about to kill Zhang Xun and quickly intervened. With a flick of his wrist, a string of black pearls appeared in his hand. He parted his palms, snapping the thread, and flung two black pearls at Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi, seeing Xuhua’s move, sneered coldly. He caught the pearls with spiritual energy, then used hidden force to hurl them at Zhang Xun. One struck Zhang Xun’s back, causing him to spit blood and run even faster.

With one pearl still in hand, Zhou Yi threw it at Xuhua. While Xuhua caught the pearl, Zhou Yi slipped to Puyi’s side, grabbing the emperor.

“Bald monk, come on! If you dare step forward, I’ll kill this little emperor first!”

Xuhua caught the black pearl, turned, pressed his palms together once more. “Master Zhou, blades and swords know no mercy. Do not harm the emperor.” Gone was his former composure.

Zhou Yi laughed aloud. “Bald monk, if you cripple your own cultivation, I’ll let the emperor go.”

“Amitabha, my cultivation was granted by my master. Without his permission, I dare not destroy it. Please show mercy, Master Zhou.”

“Damn you! After chasing me for two days and nights, now that you’re outmatched, you expect me to obey your words?” Zhou Yi, unable to out-argue Xuhua, cursed furiously.

No matter what Zhou Yi said, Xuhua always found a reason that left him speechless.

As they spoke, Puyi burst into tears.

“Don’t hurt me! Whatever you want, I’ll agree!” Puyi sobbed.

Zhou Yi’s heart stirred at this. “Little emperor, tell them to back off, then we’ll discuss terms.”

Flowers and collections requested.